


Parce que c'est toi

by CityofAangels



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Because I've Been Traumatized by Infinity War, Bucky too, Civil War Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, fluff and love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 19:23:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14456082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CityofAangels/pseuds/CityofAangels
Summary: Post Civil War, the Rogue are welcomed back to the Compound.Bucky struggles with his words, struggles with his team. He wants to know more about Tony – this man everyone seems to hate.He'll discover a man nothing like what his teammates think he is.





	Parce que c'est toi

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is raw and kinda rushed.  
> I started to write it right after seeing Infinity War (on Wednesday). I literally poured all of my feels into this. And trust me, there were a lot of them.  
> This is NOT a post Infinity War fic, but it's a post Civil War one. Don't fear the spoilers, there aren't any.  
> I could write a sequel to this one day. Maybe.

Steve had told him, quite a few times, that _way back then_ , Bucky could manage to charm almost everyone he met. According to Steve, he was sassy, quick to answer, and sometimes, just his smile was enough to convince someone of doing something they absolutely did not want to be doing just two minutes before.

He was told that ladies loved him. That the nights where he would sleep alone were quite rare. That he had also experienced with men. And sometimes with more than _one_ woman at a time.

He learned that people could not stay angry with him for very long, because he always found the right words to quiet them down, the exact right apology, the most sincere tone anyone could think of.

Contrary to Steve, he could lie like the best of them, too. Taunt them into attacking _him_ rather than keep hitting poor Steve.

He could make his best friend laugh, cry, soothe him when he was hurting, get him to sleep when he couldn't stop coughing.

According to Steve, everything he said was gold.

 

But that was _before_.

 

Now he'd been at the Compound for more than three months, and no matter how cautious the others were of him, no matter how much they took care of getting him involved in their conversations, he couldn't do it. He couldn't find _words_ anymore.

Every single joke he tried to crack fell flat.

His sass sounded more like mean remarks even to his own ears.

His words of encouragement sounded empty and weak.

His smile felt wrong on his face.

He couldn't even talk to _Steve_.

Every time he opened his mouth, he wanted the Earth to swallow him whole and make him disappear.

 

So, little by little, he started to shut up. He watched everything. Listened to everyone. Learned every little secret they were willing to share.

But he didn't say anything.

He watched.

 

There were a lot of habits he hadn't managed to shake off from his time as the most feared assassin of the world. He couldn't sleep turning his back to the door; woke up at every single noise, no matter how small; checked every possible exit of any given room; thought of every possible way of killing an hypothetical enemy with what was around him; schemed plans of escape. All the time.

But, more than anything, he hadn't managed to shake off his capacity of watching.

It had been important, when his job was to kill a target. He'd spent hours on a roof, in a hot car, on a wet sidewalk, in the shadows of a dark street, watching. Learning what his target's habits were; where they went when; if anybody spent time with them; when they were the most vulnerable.

He watched, and learned, and killed.

Now he only watched and learned.

 

The atmosphere in general was tense in the Compound. They'd come back not welcomed by most people, and especially not by the Avengers that had followed Iron Man's lead in the so called ''Civil War''. They mostly kept to themselves, now; to each their side in the Compound.

At first, Bucky had mostly stuck close to Steve, and followed him wherever he went.

He'd heard a _lot_ of things, lurking in a corner of the white, glistening kitchen and living room.

He hadn't been there for long; and for the short time that he'd been, he had met Tony exactly once – when they were welcomed back and smiling like monkeys for the flashing cameras. The man had been flippant and apparently relaxed; for everyone watching him, it was obvious that he _was_ happy to welcome back his teammates, what with his wide smiles and little jokes. He had probably managed to fool almost everyone, at least the people who did not know him well. And the people who were not skilled murderers. Unfortunately for Tony, Bucky _was_ among the second group

He hadn't missed the obvious and traitorous signs that Tony Stark was far from being as relaxed as he wanted people to believe he was. There always had been one of his friends close to him as a support: Colonel Rhodes, standing tall and proud in his braces; Doctor Banner, who'd come back from wherever he'd been – Bucky had heard someone talk about space, and immediately ran away from this weirdness – and even Spiderman, masked and so obviously young despite it. The sunglasses, Bucky was pretty sure, hid black rings under his eyes. His smile, though Tony was a talented actor, was just a little bit too tensed and forced; his laugh a bit too loud; his hands too twitchy.

He was nervous as hell, and couldn't totally hide his flinch when Steve reached for his hand, even if he managed to shake it without letting go of his smile.

The way his hand had flown to his chest right after he'd let go, tapping a rhythm on where the reactor was when he was in the suit, hadn't passed unnoticed by Bucky.

He was nervous, and with what Bucky heard every day, he couldn't very well blame him. _Everyone_ else blamed him for something already.

 

Wanda was probably the worst of them all. She snarled as soon as Tony's name was mentioned, and the hate in her voice when she had to say his name was fierce. She'd bitched about her room being smaller than the one she had before; complained about the food on the shelves that, apparently, wasn't as good as what they had before; pretended that Tony hated them and made them suffer intentionally. She seemed not to realize that she had a roof upon her head, and enough food to feed a whole family, without having to pay anything for all of it.

Truth be told, Bucky wasn't a big fan of her. Not just because of what she said – even if her naivety tended to piss him off rather quickly – but because there was a certain… aura around her. Bucky couldn't exactly put his finger on what was wrong with her, but there was something.

Then, he quickly learned to avoid her so the Soldier in his brain would not scream suspicion and discomfort.

 

Clint was not far behind Wanda when it came to insulting Stark.

At first, Bucky had sympathized with him: he had lost his family, and hadn't seen his kids in almost a year. Even if that had been mostly his fault, Bucky could still understand that it was hard on him, being reduced to a phone call weekly rather than see his sons and daughter every day.

Even if he _could_ sympathize, he did not quite understand why Clint was so mad at Tony Stark. He pretended that it was Stark's fault that his kids were far away from him; as far as Bucky knew, from what he'd heard of the Civil War, there was no one Clint could blame this on, except himself.

Like with Wanda, he'd learned that it was better for him to stay away from Clint, at least for as long as the man would lose himself in his bitterness.

 

The others were a bit less vocal in their hate, but that did not mean that they never complained.

Falcon – Sam, his name was Sam – was the wisest of them all, and the one Bucky spent the most time with, apart from Steve. As far as Bucky knew, Sam was the only one who'd asked about Rhodey and his health, and the only one who'd asked Tony if he could spare some time for a talk. The result was that Sam was the one who spent the most time on the other side of the Compound… and that he was the one that was looked at a bit suspiciously by the others.

Steve and Nat were mostly silent on the subject, except for some comments on how Tony never took part in the training sessions, and how long it took to get them back officially on the team so they could fight again.

That left Scott, but the man had taken off as soon as they were welcomed back on the American soil, muttering something about how he would ''never trust a Stark to house him''.

 

Bucky had always been curious, this he knew.

Which meant that hearing so many bad things about Tony Stark and his friends only made him want to know if this was true.

So he went in stealth mode. Listened. And watched.

 

There were no physical barriers between one side of the Compound or the other, so it was easy, maybe easier than Bucky would have thought, to cross the invisible line between the good side and the _bad_ side.

On the other side of the long corridor bordered with big windows was a kitchen. Whereas the other kitchen was all white and mostly sterile, this one was far more personal. On the counter was a little line of mugs, of all colors and sizes. There was a pile of books on the round dining table, and Bucky noticed an advanced maths book that could only belong to Spiderman. Some notes were stuck on the fridge, little reminders of what to do and – Bucky needed to take a step forward to read – whose cereals belonged to whom, with a big DO NOT STEAL scribbled at the bottom. Bucky's lips curled up in a tentative little smile, and he reached with his fingers to feel the paper when he heard steps getting nearer. He'd just disappeared in the shadows of the door when Spiderman stepped into the room, followed closely by Stark.

 

''Hey, Tony?'' the boy asked – and shit, he was _so young_ , that even if Bucky had known he wasn't an adult, it still made his head hurt. ''Think you could help me with my maths? I, just, I, I understand what it is, mostly, I think, but, I–''

''Hey, don't stress it, buddy,'' Tony smiled, clapping the boy on his shoulder. ''I got some time free this afternoon, we'll do that. Probably be good for my brain, get the dust off some of the old memories, hm?''

''That's– yeah! That's cool, that's really cool, thank you!''

''We need to work on your costume, too, don't we? I know you told me it got damaged a bit last time we were on the field. Maybe we could work on this together? So you could tell me a bit about what we could improve.''

 

The boy smiled, a happy grin that spread to his eyes, even his shoulders relaxing a bit. He jumped up on the counter, reaching for a mug that he placed in the coffee machine, waiting for it to fill up before giving it to Tony, who nodded in thanks.

Bucky stayed for a little while more, observing the both of them munching on cookies and talking animatedly about what kind of other things Peter's suit could use, before he left as silently as he'd come.

He hadn't expected this.

He hadn't expect Tony to be so… _nice_.

 

***

 

Friday was the ever watching Eye, always there when Boss didn't have time to be (which was most of the time). She'd turned into the Big Brother, or rather the Big Sister, of the Compound, always keeping a camera on their returning guests, just in case they got the idea to do something they shouldn't be doing.

She couldn't miss it when Sergeant Barnes sneaked out of the kitchen where the rogue Avengers were debating over something, and was about to notice Boss of their unwanted guest, when she focused a bigger part of her intelligence on what was happening.

Sergeant Barnes did not seem to be threatening. He was hesitant and obviously curious, but not threatening. The way he reached out with a slightly trembling hand to touch the notes on the fridge just confirmed her first impression.

She did not say anything when he ran out of the room to hide himself behind the door when Peter Parker and Boss entered it.

She thought about it and decided to stay silent.

Let him see.

Let him learn.

 

***

 

That first little taste had been too much and too little at the same time. Just a bit too much not to raise his curiosity and make him want more, but not enough that he felt satisfied by what he'd seen. He wanted more of it, and so a few days later, he left his dark room and once more crossed the corridor, stealing a glance at the blue sky as he went.

He knew where he was going; there was a training room on the other side that the rogue Avengers used sometimes, at fixed hours so they would be sure not to meet someone they did not want to meet. He was pretty sure there would be someone in there, and if there wasn't, well, he'd just have to wait on the little gallery until someone arrived.

Luckily for him, the gallery wasn't lit when he sneaked in, and he surely did not want this to change. He sat down on a corner, where his dark clothes made him almost invisible to someone who was not specifically looking for him.

There was someone in the training room. Two people, actually: Colonel Rhodes, sitting in his wheelchair, and Stark, who was kneeling next to him and fiddling with the braces on his legs.

 

''Does it hurt?'' the man asked, briefly looking up at his friend before getting back to work. ''And don't lie, Rhodey, I know you.''

''Tony…''

 

A deep sigh, and the Colonel leaned down to bat Tony's hands off his legs. He pulled on his wrists until Tony looked up, pain and sadness almost carved in every line of his face, and Rhodes put a hand on the back of Tony's neck, gently directing his head to his stomach. Tony didn't resist, and his shoulders shook a couple of times as soon as his face was hidden. Even from where he was, Bucky could hear the catch in Rhodes' breathing.

 

''Listen to me, Tones, okay? You've outdid yourself so that I could walk again. Doctors said I would never ever be able to stand up on my two legs again; you proved them wrong. I can stand, and walk, and even dance when I feel like it. That's something I was pretty sure had been taken away from me last year. Sure, sometimes it hurts and it's tiring, and that sucks, but you know what? I don't give a fuck. Because– hey, look at me,'' he gently demanded, and after a couple of seconds, Tony did, his lips trembling and tears glistening on his cheeks. ''Because my best friend heard someone say that I could never walk again, and he did everything to prove them wrong. I don't care if it hurts, Tony; that's not your fault. None of this is your fault. You feel guilt, and you give and give, and give again so much because of it, but you never had to. So yes, today it was hurting, and we'll have to work on it so it gets better… But as long as you're there to work on it with me, and as long as you're just there with me, that's all I ask. Okay? Right now I just want my best friend, and maybe a pizza and a movie night, too.''

 

Stark chuckled, a wet, tired sound that made something snap in Bucky's heart, and nodded weakly.

 

''We already ate pizza yesterday,'' he answered, and the Colonel smiled at him as he wiped at his eyes.

''I don't care. I live with a billionaire, I can eat whatever the hell I want.''

 

He watched as Tony got up slowly, and reached for the hand that his friend was holding out, his free hand finding support on Tony's elbow. His braces made a whining sound as he straightened up, but he clenched his teeth, and made a point of leaving the room on his two feet, supported by Tony's hands and strength.

 

Up in the gallery, a tear glistened on Bucky's right cheek.

 

Somewhere in her programming, Friday smiled.

 

***

 

Stark was live on television.

The interviewer was a complete asshole; even with his little knowledge of modern television, Bucky noticed that. Her insults and her skepticism at the man were barely masked. She didn't let pass anything he said without overanalyzing it for at least ten minutes.

Compared to her, Stark was the perfect face of niceness and calmness. He didn't snap at her; answered even her most insulting questions with a smile and a smart answer.

When they reached the topic of the Rogue Avengers, Bucky tensed up.

 

''You're telling me,'' the blonde lady was saying, an eyebrow raised with open confusion, ''that Captain America and the rest of the team have not been approved for battle right now?''

''As of yet, no, they haven't. We have a whole team of lawyers working on it, and we hope that–''

''You do, really? You're telling me that you're fighting for Steve Rogers to come back and fight by your side after what happened between you?''

''What happened between Captain Rogers and me should not interfere with the rest of the world, the way I see it. I think that they all should be able to fight with us again, yes.''

''Mister Stark, let us be honest here. You have an history of not wanting to cooperate with people who have disagreed with you, and–''

''Excuse me?'' Stark asked, politely enough, but his hand was trembling as he reached for his glass of water. ''Could you maybe explain what you are talking about?''

''There were a lot of rumors about Justin Hammer asking for your help, and you refusing multiple times.''

''And it turned out that Mister Hammer had hired a known terrorist and almost killed a good number of people with his actions. I don't really feel like you are successful in proving your point, there.''

''Please, there's no need to get angry. All I am saying is that the public feels that, how should I say it… That the negotiations concerning Mister Rogers are taking quite a bit more time than necessary.''

''I can only advise them to think of exactly what we are talking about, then. When Captain Rogers decided to save his friend Sergeant Barnes despite clear orders of not interfering,'' and at that Bucky shuddered, ''he knew he was not following the law and that he could face recrimination. He chose not to surrender when given the choice, and to fight rather than talk. Captain Rogers broke multiple laws, and we cannot let his status mean that he will be forgiven everything.''

''And do you feel like you're giving him the best chances of defending himself now?''

 

At that, Bucky pressed the off button of the remote with a bit more rage than necessary.

 

''What an asshole,'' he muttered, his voice hoarse from not having been used in such a long time.

 

Maybe he'd dreamt it, but he was pretty sure the roof had made a mechanic noise of assent at him.

 

***

 

The next morning, the team in general, and Clint in particular, woke up to discover a sheet of paper filled with a small, neat handwriting.

 

 _Mister Barton_ , it said.

_I have been talking with your family for a long time. They are currently under the protection of the state, as you probably already have heard._

_I have arranged for them to spend next weekend here at the Compound. One of my pilot will go fetch them in an helicopter and bring them back immediately. They should all be here by about 2PM next Friday afternoon._

_My advice is that you all stay inside for the duration of this weekend. I will gladly provide everything you need for entertainment – we have a pool, a private cinema, and a library that I think you could all enjoy. I will arrange for everything you need, furniture and food, to be shipped on time._

_Please ask Friday if you have any question about the arrangements. She will contact me if she deems it necessary._

_Have a nice day,_

_Tony Stark_

 

''Who does he think he is?'' Clint snarled, tearing the piece of paper angrily. ''Being all formal and shit.''

''Arrogant asshole,'' Wanda perked in with a disdainful snort. ''Thinks he's above all of us because of his money.''

''Like he's doing me a huge favor, bringing them here. He's about two seconds away from asking me to worship him.''

 

Bucky was sitting down, cradling his hot mug between his hands… and almost breaking it with the force of his anger. Thankfully for him, Sam intervened before he himself had the possibility to do – or say – anything he would regret.

 

''Clint, man,'' he said, ever the voice of wiseness. ''I'm sorry to break it to you, but he _is_ doing you a huge favor.''

''What are you talking about, Sam? That's _my_ family we're talking about!''

''Yeah, sure, but _your_ family was under threat from the moment you decided to leave them. Tony didn't have to do anything about it, except he did. He used his influence to protect them, and now he's using it again so you have a chance to see them. Without him? You wouldn't spend any time with them until a very long time.''

 

Clint was looking at all of them, incredulous, visibly searching support that he only found in loyal Wanda.

 

''You're talking shit, Sam,'' she said, shaking her head. ''What, are you becoming one of his guarding dogs, too? Did he _pay_ you, too?''

''I won't try to argue with you,'' Sam simply answered, and got up from the kitchen table to leave. ''You're both so angry at him you can't even see what's right in front of your eyes. I'm just telling you, Clint, sending a thank you would be very wise. And smart, for one.''

 

With that, he grabbed his coffee mug and left, leaving Bucky to hide his smile in his own mug. That had been _priceless_.

Sure, it didn't stop Clint and Wanda from talking shit about Tony, and Sam, as soon as he'd left, but still, it was very satisfying to hear someone tell them the straight truth without trying to embellish it so much you didn't even hear it anymore.

He wished it could have been him, because the words had been tumbling around on his brain during all of the argument.

Later, maybe.

Not yet.

 

***

 

He'd thought, and thought, and thought about it, and no matter how he turned it around in his head, there was only one next step he could think of.

He needed to talk to Tony.

He needed to apologize.

 

He'd been introduced to Friday on the day of his arrival – a quick explanation about what she was, what she could and couldn't do and, though he didn't talk to her much or ask her for any help, he knew now was the time. He shifted around on his bed, settling down more comfortably on his pillows.

 

''Hum,'' he cleared his throat, looking up awkwardly. ''Is it… Friday? Can you hear me?''

 

A short silence and then:

 

''Yes, Sergeant Barnes. Is there any way I can help you?''

''Well– yes. Maybe? I was just wondering, if, maybe, if… I wanted to talk to Mister Stark. To Tony.''

''May I ask why?'' The AI asked, and her voice had obviously hardened a bit.

''It's… I wanted to apologize. To him. I mean…'' he sighed, and took a deep breath, fighting for the words that kept escaping him. ''I wanted to say I was sorry about what happened. To ask if there was anything I could do to help make the situation easier.''

''You want to apologize.''

''Yes, I do. And maybe he doesn't want to see me, and I could understand that. Really. Just. Ask him? Maybe? If it's not something that would hurt him.''

 

The silence was longer, this time, and when the AI spoke again, her voice was definitely kinder.

 

''I will pass your message. I cannot promise you there will be an answer, but I will do my best.''

''Alright, that's… thank you.''

 

He sighed and reached for the bottle of water on his night stand, hoping to cool his flaming face.

 

''Sergeant Barnes?''

''Yeah?''

''I cannot speak for the Boss, but you have been the only one, with mister Wilson, willing to apologize. I believe that is something that he will not forget.''

 

Bucky nodded, and burrowed his face into the fresh pillow, muttering an ''I wish'' that, if Friday heard, she did not comment on.

 

***

 

The answer took a while to come, and Bucky could only too well imagine what Stark must have been through, thinking about his request.

He'd killed his parents.

He wasn't technically the one guilty for that.

He was the reason behind the conflict between Steve and Tony.

He wasn't technically guilty for _that_ , either.

He was a feared assassin

He'd broken through his programming.

 _He'd killed his parents_.

 

''Sergeant Barnes?'' Friday asked on an evening two days later, as Bucky was reading some fantasy book he'd found lying around.

''Yes, Friday?''

''Boss has thought about your request. He told me to ask you if you were free for a talk right now?''

'' _Right now_?'' Bucky asked, his eyes wide in panic, standing up without his usual grace.

''Yes, Sergeant. He is in the communal kitchen on the other side of the Compound. I believe you know where that is, am I right?''

 

Bucky blushed bright red but nodded, looking cautiously away from the cameras in the room.

 

''Yeah, I know. Tell him I'm on my way, okay?''

 

He looked down at himself, grimacing when he noticed he was wearing sweatpants and a faded graphic tee-shirt. That would have to do; he had no time to go to his room and change for something a bit more serious. He put the book in his pocket and walked out of the room, through the corridor, until he was standing on the threshold of the kitchen.

Tony was sitting down in one of the chairs, shoulders hunched over, and a hand protectively covering as much of his chest as it could. He looked up when he heard Bucky approach – he was voluntarily walking far more noisily that he usually would, wanting to avoid scaring the other man – and the bags under his eyes were even worse that the last time Bucky had seen him. His hand tightened on his shirt for a quarter of a second, and, on the other free hand, the gauntlet deployed, pointing at Bucky.

 

''I don't want to shoot you,'' he said, his voice exhausted, ''but I will if I have to. We clear on that?''

''Clear.''

 

He leaned down to unstrap the knife that had been tied to his ankle and put it down on the kitchen table.

 

''I'm not armed anymore. I'm not here to hurt you.''

''Yeah, okay. Still not taking off the gauntlet.''

''That's fair.''

''Fri told me you wanted to talk?''

 

Bucky grimaced and scratched his nose.

 

''I'm shit at words. They probably… I dunno, wiped that out of me. No talking. Complying. But I wanted– needed to apologize.''

''Apologize?''

''Yeah. I'm sorry, Mister Stark, I really am.''

''About what?''

''About everything. I'm sorry about your parents,'' Stark flinched and Bucky clenched his fists, hating them, hating _himself_ for what they'd made him do. For what he'd done.

''That wasn't you. That was– Hydra. They were the ones who killed them.''

''Yes. Yeah, that was them, but… I still did it. I'm the face you saw on that video.''

 

Stark nodded, wordlessly, and the gauntlet lowered, just a bit.

 

''I fought them for ten years. Hydra, I mean,'' he explained when Tony seemed confused. ''The files said that. They needed ten years to make me comply. I'm sorry I didn't fight them longer than that. I didn't– want to. Didn't want to do what they made me do. I tried killing myself. A couple of times.''

 

Stark was looking at him now, his dark eyes reflecting the bright lights of the kitchen.

 

''They stopped me every time. I kept trying and they kept saving me. And punishing me. I swear, I _swear_ it, if I had known what I was going to do, I would have tried harder. I would have done everything I could.''

''Barnes, stop. Please, just– stop. You couldn't do anything about what they did to you. I don't think I blame you for that anymore. Shit,'' he shook his head, ''it's just all so complicated. I don't blame you, but I do. Because it was you, and it wasn't.''

''I'm sorry. Trust me, I really, really am. And I'm sorry about Siberia. It's no excuse, really, but I wasn't in my right mind. I would have stopped, I would– I would have helped you. I'm sorry that Steve was such an idiot, and that I didn't stop him.''

''I don't think I've ever heard so many _sorry_ in all of my life,'' Stark mumbled.

''Well, you should have. We're all– we're dumb. We should have apologized as soon as we were back here. Before, even.''

 

This time, even if the gauntlet was still wrapped around Stark's hand, it was completely lowered, resting on the light wood table. Stark was watching him cautiously, and having so much attention fixed on him made Bucky's ears turn pink.

 

''Listen, I'm no big fan of politics. I don't understand much of anything about it, really. But if I can help– if there's a mess I can clean, I'll do it. Okay? I want to help with the shit we made. Any way I can. I don't care if it's dirty work or anything.''

''There's not much you can do right now. It's all about fine work and little negotiations. But I'll hold you to that, and I'll call if there's anything you can do.''

''Okay. Okay, thank you. For everything, not just for that. You didn't have to welcome us, _me_ back home, but you did. And you don't have to fight, but you do. Thank you. I'll leave you alone, okay? Didn't wanna take too much of your time. Just– thanks. For listening.''

 

Stark just nodded, but, as Bucky was about to leave the room, he called him back.

 

''Hey, Barnes? This book of yours,'' he nodded to the paperback in his pocket. ''We've got more of these in the library just downstairs. Feel free to spend some time there, okay?''

 

***

 

From there on, Bucky became a big fan of reading.

 

***

 

He got to know the other Avengers with time.

They were suspicious, at first, and he pretended not to notice that he was never left completely alone.

He didn't see Tony much, but Spiderman – Peter – was often around. At first he mostly stayed in a corner of the room and didn't say anything, only keeping an eye on Bucky at all times. But then, little by little, he started to talk. Truth be told, it didn't look like the boy was physically capable of _not_ talking, so it was logical that he couldn't hold back for very long. Bucky got to learn about his life: how he shared it between the Compound and high school, between the Avengers and his aunt. They made amends, Bucky apologizing for what he did during the Civil War, Peter apologizing about webbing him down. That only led to a long conversation about how he'd managed to create his webs, and what he could do with them and how jumping around between buildings felt.

He also met Vision, probably the weirdest person (being?) he'd ever met in all of his life. And that was saying a whole lot. Vision was so relaxed at all times in his khakis and sweaters that it made Bucky relax around him too. He had spent so much time reading – apparently, he did not need to sleep which was… weird – that he was full of good tips on what Bucky could like. Sometimes, it slightly felt like talking with your English teacher, or maybe your very cultured dad.

Colonel Rhodes had been the most suspicious of them all, and he still was, but there wasn't much Bucky could do about it, except for the initial apology, and for always being on his best behavior. He hoped that, someday, things could get better between the two of them, because Rhodes seemed like the type of man that was worth getting to know.

 

The atmosphere was so much more relaxed on this side of the Compound that it was almost painful going back to his room and to his moody teammates at the end of the day. On the one side, he spent days laughing, not being judged for his struggle with words, where people did not snap if you made the mistake of not saying what they wanted you to say. On the other side, everyone was so tense it felt like they were going to kill you if you dared say something they did not want to hear – and that had almost happened more than once, Sam had now moved to the other side, tired of hearing Wanda and Clint calling him a traitor.

 

Spending so much time on the other side meant he'd seen a lot of things that helped him better understand Tony. And better understand how wrong Wanda and all the others were.

 

There was this one time he had entered the kitchen to find Tony surrounded by letters of all sizes, carefully opening them one by one, and drafting an answer to each and every one of them. Hidden in a corner, Bucky had smiled watching him carefully put aside the multiple drawings that kids had sent him, and replying with a signed picture and a personalized word.

 

There was the time he had almost tripped over boxes filled to the brim with Avengers merchandise – toys, clothes, sweets, books, pictures to collect, basically everything you could think of. He'd asked Peter what it was, a bit later, and the boy had smiled so bright when answering that it was things they would bring to sick children during the weekend. He'd explained it was something they did at least once every month – shipped out somewhere in or out of the country, and spent a day with children, and sometimes adults who were in the hospital.

 

Then, once, Bucky had entered the living room to see all of them around the table planning a distribution of meals for the homeless people of New York. Tony financed so much charities that could take care of all of this but no, they actually got involved quite regularly in these projects – food delivered by Iron Man, with pictures taken to raise awareness of the problem.

 

But the most memorable time had been when Bucky had entered the living room to discover a young boy that he'd absolutely never seen, sitting on a couch and biting his nails nervously. The boy had jumped when Bucky had entered the room, and scrambled to shake his hand, introducing himself as '' _you can call me Kyle, sir, I'm a big fan_ ''. Bucky had raised his eyebrows at the surprisingly high voice, but simply smiled and thanked him. Later, Tony himself had taken the time to explain who the boy was – Tony had found him on the street, begging for some money to eat. He was a transgender boy (and Bucky had needed the help of Friday to know what this was exactly) and his parents had thrown him out when they'd learnt it. Cue Tony housing him for a couple of weeks, helping him find someplace to live so he could keep studying, doing everything he could to help the boy deal with the rejection like he could.

 

Tony was kind. Tolerant. Generous. Surpassed himself every single day. Fought everyone who told him he couldn't do something. He was brave, fearless, ready to throw himself in the range of fire to protect someone else.

Tony was everything his old teammates said he wasn't. 

And even more than that.

 

***

 

When Shuri had fitted him with the arm, she'd assured him that Wakandian tech never went wrong.

Apparently, Bucky was the lucky exception.

It wasn't anything painful, per se; just the arm blocking if he moved a certain way, and staying blocked as long as he didn't do careful movements to unblock it. It was more a slight frustration that a big problem, but, of course, Tony had to enter the room at the exact moment his elbow got blocked.

 

''Wow,'' the man said, raising an eyebrow at Bucky, ''That looks uncomfortable.''

''No, it's… I'm okay, really. Just need to, wait.''

 

Slowly, Bucky moved every piece of his arm, from the fingers up, and the block finally let go with an audible _clic_.

 

''That's better. Happens, sometimes. It's not too bad.''

''Your arm freezes if you move it in a certain way and you say it's _not too bad_?'' A slight hesitation, Tony's eyes fixed on him, and then: ''Come on down to the shop, I'll see if I can do something.''

''Really, Mister Stark, that's not–''

''I think you could call me Tony by now, don't you? Pretty sure if I hear _Mister Stark_ once more I'm gonna move out of this country to a place where no one knows me. Come on, Barnes, I'm telling you I'm going to fix this.''

''If I can call you Tony,'' Bucky said, finally following Tony through a corridor and down some stairs, ''I think you can call me Bucky.''

 

The man looked over his shoulder, and threw him a tentative little smile, almost missing a step in the process.

 

''Ow, shit. Okay, Bucky it is, then.''

 

They arrived in front of a glass, opaque door that opened as soon as Tony put his thumb on the reader, light flashing green.

What waited inside was like a decor straight out of Bucky's beloved science-fiction books. He looked with wide eyes at the hovering blue holograms, the Iron Man armor waiting for some repairs, the various webshooters Tony had been working on, and–

 

''Are those _robots_?'' he blurted out, unable to help himself.

''Oh, yeah. DUM-E, buddy, come say hi.''

 

The little robot wheeled over, all whiny noises and curious claw, and Bucky grinned, patting it (him?) on its arm, laughing when the bot made a happy little _beep_.

 

''He's amazing.''

''And you… are really not anything I thought you would be,'' Tony said softly, but loud enough to be heard by Bucky, who turned in surprise.

 

The other man was watching him pet his robot, arms crossed on his chest, and something weird in his eyes.

 

''Sorry, I don't– I shouldn't have touched him, I'm sorry, I'll just…''

''God, no, that's not– don't mind me, okay? DUM-E obviously likes you. Here, you can even play with that,'' he threw a little ball that Bucky caught easily enough. ''This bot's like a dog, he can play fetch for hours.''

 

He turned around, pretending to be immersed in a schematics lying on a bench, and Bucky looked at his back for a second, deciding not to comment on the fact that Tony was reading it upside down. And with his eyes closed. He turned to the little robot and threw the ball, watching, delighted, as the bot wheeled after it.

 

''If you don't feel comfortable with me being here,'' Bucky said, hesitantly, ''that's something I can understand. We could go back upstairs.''

 

A laugh, breathless, and then a sheet rustling.

 

''It's not that. Rather the opposite, actually. You know, you were like the Big Bad Wolf to me. Figured you'd hate me when you came back for hurting you, that you would be sticking close to Steve and not willing to have anything to do with me. I don't know what I expected, maybe– maybe that you'd be like Wanda. Full of hate. Waiting for just the right occasion to hurt me, and–''

''Tony, I just want something to be clear between us. If Wanda attempts _anything_ , anything at all, to hurt you, I won't let her do it. Okay?''

''That's just– That's exactly what I'm talking about! You've got every right to hate me, shit, you're _surrounded_ by people who hate me, and you just, you… you _like_ me. Why?''

''You've got even more right to hate _me_ , and here you are, getting ready to fix a small glitch in my arm. Why?''

''That's not– it's not the same thing.''

''But it _is_. I don't know how to say that, fuck, but I… I've always been a curious guy, okay? And so I wanted to know more about you. To understand what it was that the others didn't like, maybe. Except everything I saw – everything you do – it's just… It's selfless, always. You pretend like you don't give a shit about anything or anyone, but you do. You do. You care so much, all the time, I don't even know how you're still standing. A normal man would have dropped of exhaustion a decade ago. I'm here because I learned to know you, Tony; I took the steps the others did not, and I refused to stop at what you want everyone to believe about you. I learned that the superhero in _you_ is not like the superhero in _them_. In you, it's not just the costume, or the suit, and the fighting or whatever. You've got it here,'' he pointed at his heart and his head, ''this superhero thing.''

''I'm no hero type,'' Tony retorted weakly.

''Except you are, you really, really are.''

''Bucky… I thought you sucked with words,'' Tony tried desperately to joke.

''Can I touch you?'' Bucky asked, catching him by surprise.

 

Dark brown eyes met his blue ones, and a hand unconsciously touched a chest where scars marked what once had been.

Tony hesitated, took a step forward, nodded.

Bucky did not hesitate: he reached for his hands, squeezed.

 

''I like you, Tony, because I know who you really are. And, maybe it's stupid, but I hope that– that if you're here, it's also because you got to know me, Bucky Barnes, not the Winter Soldier, not Steve's best friend, not the Bucky of eighty years ago. Just the me of today.''

 

Tony had never been talented with feelings; as a matter of fact, he tended to avoid them screaming most of the time. He showed feelings with actions and things, not with words. And so he squeezed Bucky's vibranium arm a bit stronger, gesturing to one of the free chairs in the workshop.

 

''I really want to fix this thing for you, okay? I promise it won't hurt. I won't make it hurt. Will you be okay?''

 

He wasn't looking at Bucky's face, and so he missed the fond smile that was addressed to him… But he certainly could not miss the way he was suddenly wrapped in a big bear hug, warm, smelling like leather and sweet fruits.

 

''What–'' he started to protest, and Bucky immediately let go.

 

Completely out of his will, he made a small noise of protest, and the chest under his cheek rumbled with a chuckle before the warmth of two muscular arms engulfed him again.

 

''You do so much good around you, you don't even realize it. I do. You're unique, Tony.''

 

***

 

Somewhere in the servers, an AI was watching her Boss and her second favorite resident of the Compound having a _moment_ (as Boss called it).

Never let it be said that Friday wasn't a romantic; probably Tony had watched one too many sappy comedies as he'd created her code.

Whatever the reason was, Friday now had a new objective, codenamed: Mission Cupid.

No matter how much time it would take, she made it her personal mission to get these two to, as the humans put it, _date_.

 _Mission Cupid_ became priority number one, before _Mission Pranking the Rogues_ , _Mission Eye on Wanda_ , and at the same level as _Mission Boss Feeling Good_.

Humans, be warned: the most powerful (and only functioning in the world) AI would never abandon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3  
> Comments/Kudos are always greatly appreciated.


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